


the art of falling

by machiavelli



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Demon!Tom, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Innocence, M/M, Manipulation, Power Dynamics, Sexual Tension, Soulmates, Supernatural Elements, angel!Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:41:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27151256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/machiavelli/pseuds/machiavelli
Summary: Harry and Tom keep meeting. Harry is curious, and Tom is nothing if not persistent.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 76
Kudos: 273





	1. Intertwined

**Author's Note:**

> As always, if you have the time, comments and feedback are really really appreciated ^^

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, hope you're all doing well!!
> 
> i took a bit of a break when i finished my last fic, and then randomly last night i suddenly decided i needed to write this...
> 
> this first chapter is more of a prologue - hope you enjoy!

**First**

I watched them, moaning with thick tongues and blistered skin. Their crops lay shrivelled, sandy and grey on the burning soil. The sun was unforgiving, throwing armful after armful of white heat down from a blue blanket above.

It was hard not to sigh, to feel pity. They waited for a rain that would not come.

The Rain Maker sat in pose, face stained with the blood of the last, dried up berries, their juice just enough to decorate the harsh planes of his forehead and cheeks.

I could hear his mind, his quiet pleas. His thoughts stuttered to his boy, the apprentice. He was only six summers old, not enough time for the Rain Maker to impart much of his craft.

Circling him, I placed my hand on his brow. _Be at peace_ , I said to him. _Do not fear it_. I saw his shoulders soften, his eyes smeared with tears. He knew what would happen.

The old woman came closer, shuffling under her coat of feathers, her tiny, curled feet leaving bird-like tracks in the dust. The others watched her, falling silent at her slow approach. The knife glinted in her hand, polished and black, curved in a smile.

"Come," she said. "It is time to do your duty."

The Rain Makers eyes opened, black and gummy. He was young still, teeth yellow and sharp, but he did not cry out or run.

A hum began to rise as the others drew closer, swaying a little. Someone was weeping. Beneath his breath he began to chant, to weave the song of the rain.

This was their last resort. The Rain Maker was precious to them, an important role in their group, and his sacrifice was a wound, one that would fester.

But duty had to be done.

I watched curiously, standing beside him. The humming stopped. The old woman, their leader, plunged the weapon into his throat. The skin split, like the skin of a grape, folding under the edge. His lifeblood fell into the ground as he gulped on silence. 

How cruel, I couldn't help thinking, that through this child-like ignorance they will never find peace. But, just as the Rain Maker did his duty, body twitching and jerking on the flat, cracked earth, as must I. 

I crouched down, watching his eyes latch on to me, the way they curved in blessing. I read the question in them, nodded my head. My hand reached up, up into the sky, to where the tiny beads of moisture lay, still too young and asleep to fall. 

_Come_ , I commanded lightly.

The first drop hit the floor with a weighty thud, slurped up immediately by hungry soil. The second fell on the Rain Makers head, now still, sliding down to where his eyes stared, glassy and unseeing. A tear trickled down, the dried juice diffusing pink into the path.

The third and the fourth drops fell twinned, and soon the air was thick with steam and with light. The people wept, they fell to the ground, still hot with blood, and shouted their pleasure. 

I laughed out loud, I couldn't help it. I laughed to see them happy, to see their smiles and their joy. 

"Why are you laughing?"

The question took me by surprise. My mouth clicked shut and I turned, intrigued to see a little boy standing next to me. I could sense him immediately as _Other_. The ones we were not supposed to speak to. 

He was slender, pale and sly, black hair like coal and eyes like silver, flashing through the rain. "Why do you laugh?" he repeated. He sounded confused, a little angry perhaps.

"I laugh for their happiness," I replied calmly. 

The boy's face coiled into a sneer. "Why do you care for it?" He kicked the body on the ground, gesturing in disgust. "Why do you bother with this? They don't understand it - they will never."

I tilted my head at him. Yes, he was _Other_. But he was young too. I couldn't help my softness. "Beauty does not require permanence," I said after a pause. "It is beauty because it dares."

He wrinkled his nose at me. "I don't understand."

My eyes slid past him, to where the Rain Maker's child cried against the soft thighs of his mother. "Hold out your hand," I said simply.

The boy followed my instruction guardedly. His palm was still soft, smooth. I could see it had not yet grown as blackened and hateful as it would. Maybe this one I could help?

A tiny bubble of energy and form bounced in the curl of my fist. I dropped the gift onto his outstretched fingers, watching his face as he peered closer. It fell, and I felt the edges of my mouth curl. 

"A flower?" he said flatly, holding it out. Tiny pink petals fluttered, unfurling in a kiss.

"Beautiful because it blooms, singular because it falls."

The boy crushed his fist around it and I felt a little stirring of regret in my chest. _Ah._ No, this one had made his choice.

"That's a very boring way to think," he informed me, raising his eyebrows and sticking his hands in the pockets of his robes. 

I inclined my head, turning back to the people, watching the scene, tasting it on my tongue like honey. It filled me up, light and effervescent. "What's your name?" I found myself asking.

I felt him frown beside me. "I do not own a name," he admitted, bending to rake his eyes curiously over the rip in the Rain Maker's throat. "And you?"

There was a calling from somewhere, a soft whisper in my ear. I had to leave, to go to the next.

"Harry," I decided. It was a close enough approximation. 

"Harry," the boy repeated, twirling his tongue around the syllables. 

"Would you like one?" I asked, resisting the pull in my chest. It would be East, this time, I presumed.

"What?"

"A name. Would you like me to give you one?"

His eyes grew wide. "Why would I need that?" he laughed. "To be like them?" he didn't look impressed. 

There was something about him. He was _Other_ , but he was... familiar. Young. Maybe this could be my gift. 

"Riddle," I murmured, amusement surely dancing across my face. 

His own darkened, mouth opening.

I gave in to the pull, laughing, and blinked away.

**Second**

Jebel Sahaba was red and pillowy. The sand under my feet was a sheet of softness, covering the hardness of the packed ground underneath. Green plants frothed out in patches, a shock of colour against black sky. The moon shone down, washing everything in her cool silver breath.

Turiel and I wept together. We crouched, touching the tender tips of our fingers to the foreheads of those slain, trying to ease the suffering of those making a long, slow journey to the end, as much as we were allowed. 

"We will never let them forget this," he whispered to me fiercely. "They will remember this happened, for time and time to come."

I could almost see the lightening sparks between his teeth as he spoke, bringing it into existence. This was our first failure, and it stung, whip bitter and icy.

Riddle stared at us, arms bloody and face triumphant. Behind him, his brothers flickered in and out of the shadows, feeding on the death and the hatred. They slipped through the battle-stained bodies of the victors, watching out of hardened eyes as they heaved the bodies into one of the pits. I could see them, their lust growing even more frenzied, their movements twitchy with glee and power. 

I had to turn away.

"Harry," I heard him call out, from across the pit. He had grown from a boy, was now fully fledged, an indeterminable age like myself. 

"Riddle," I answered slowly, ignoring the furious look cast to me by Turiel. He was outraged - we weren't supposed to speak to them.

"Better luck next time," he smiled lazily, a cat's smile. As if he'd heard, his tongue darted out, a slither of pink to lick the blood off his fingers.

"Do you feel proud of yourself?" Turiel snapped furiously by my side. "This was needless. It is a defamation, a despoiling of the gifts we have been granted."

Riddle's face turned savage with glee. "Proud? Yes, I feel proud," he purred, slinking closer. "Is this not a celebration of beauty," and his eyes flicked to mine on the word, mocking and sharp. "To watch them heave out their short, fluttering lives, fill them up to the brim with passion, with fear, with anger. Is this not the truest of themselves they can become?"

Turiel and I looked. We saw the pale lilac of viscera, the dark clots of blood, smelt the shame and the suffering. Heard the thump of meat as one by one the dead were toppled into a split in the ground, their time cut short.

"For what? All this for power?" I found myself saying out loud. It was quiet but heard. 

"Does the reason matter?" Riddle asked. "They wanted more women. More crops, more land. More, more more." 

Our exchange was catching attention. His brothers were solidifying behind him. I recognised the stretched-tall figure of Zaze, known for nightmares. 

"What are you still doing here, little Angels?" he called. He gleamed, dark eyes, dark skin, dark hair. 

Turiel's words had been spoken. Nobody would forget. That was all we could do. Turiel knew this too; letting his last tear fall, I felt a brief rush of light from him as he gave all he could, a parting gift of peace. Someone cursed, but I followed too, casting a look back to see Riddle staring up frozenly. 

From above, the perfect circle of slaughter was visible, a macabre cyst on the land. I could see the villages with fire still burning, hear the wails of the widowed women. 

Something resolved itself. I would be better. I would try harder. I would _be better_. 

**Third**

I knew it even as I did not see it. Riddle was the cause. Time was a curious thing: I could dip in and out like water, play with it, splash around. I sometimes saw what came before and what came next, but it was fleeting, sporadic. And I knew I had my role to play, as we all did. 

It had been a long time since, but I did not forget. We do not forget. 

This occasion was different: we had both taken mortal forms. It was an honour, for me at least, and I assume for him too. To be trusted with such a beautifully complex and delicate clock lit a warm, golden glow deep in my belly, and I tasted every feeling, every emotion with relish. It felt nice, to be homed, to have my essence distilled in a straightforward way, taken from the nebulous form I had and woven into something more tangible, more able to categorise and abstractify and wish and hope.

I kept an eye on him. I saw him with Nero, I watched him whisper delicately into the shell of his ear, stroke his ego, feed him wine and grapes, pick out the young boys and girls from the Nighthouses to pleasure him with. 

But although dread was coiling, I had my own tasks to complete. The people had discovered faith. It was sometimes complicated by humanness but it was pure enough that we were busy now. There was a feeling of momentum between us, like change was possible. I felt powerful, could see the same in my brothers and sisters. 

That night the wind whistled through the twists and turns of the narrow streets, blown by a smooth purple sky. Rome baked in the summer heat, people panting to their houses after dinner, and only in the gardens, where rain rose from the wet green trees, was any relief found. 

As I opened my eyes, I could tell something was wrong. I'd been resting, tucked in my pallet, slippery with sweat, when I smelled the smoke. My heart began to thunder, horror cresting. I wrenched back the strips of cloth covering the windows.

Fire. A towering, spitting beast, pawing at the earth and eating its way through the wooden merchant houses of the Circus Maximus. It had spread - everywhere I looked was veiled in black plumes of angry smoke, wisps of burning orange dancing across my line of sight. 

What should I do? I felt no guidance. What _could_ I do?

My feet decided for me. Jumping up, I pulled on a robe, hastening out of my room. Every door I passed I banged on with my fist, shouting, praying for support, for help. 

I was living with the faithful, as I had been for the entirety of this life, people I'd known for two or three decades. We took to the streets, wandering in directionless horror, laden with strips of cloth soaked in aloe, water pots, anything we could.

It was war, but against an indefatigable enemy. What to do? I murmured blessings at all I could, prayed, hoped, calmed. But I was mortal, and although some powers remained mine, I couldn't change what was ordained to be. 

The fires raged on.

It was on the sixth day of Rome burning, as the flames slowly pretended to die down, that I began to notice the shift. Nero's words thundered through the streets, repeated in half-hysterical fervour: "these Christians, this race of men following a new and malefic superstition... they will burn as we have burned. They will scream as we have screamed."

Through my dread I could recognise him in the order of the words. 

We stood no chance of hiding - and why should we? We could hardly believe it. Our people were well known, had lived in our streets for a span of years. Our naivety was the rope with which we hung.

Those we had been attending to only days prior came to take us. Paraded through the streets, fear a cold, hard ball in my stomach. My sandals crunched on broken glass and wood, marching on and on until we reached a central square, thoughts still suspended in disbelief.

My eyes widened as I saw it: the raging furnace, the carefully, intentionally stoked heat, the same as that which we had worked so hard to stop for the last week. A council of noblemen presided on a platform of a kind, directing as my friends, my family, my people were beaten into the ground and burned alive. 

My heart sank as I saw him, fierce with rage and mischief, but I had no surprise.

"Christian scum," someone spat. The crowd was shouting, faces wild.

I understood. Two thirds of the city was gone. So far six days of destruction, countless lost and maimed. The people were untethered, homeless, jobless, purposeless. Someone must be blamed.

My time here was at an end, this I understood too. As I walked, bowed against the torrent of rage, I tried to gently touch the thoughts around me. _You must remember charity,_ I tried to instil. _Kindness, generosity. Help each other. Love each other._

Soldiers looked down, their gazes passing over me. None of their faces saw mine. I was just a task to be delivered. My heart bled for them, the screams of my brothers and sisters echoing in my ears. The air was suffused with suffering, and I could barely contain myself. This body _felt_ , it felt so strongly and so deeply. It hurt. 

"Move," came the order, barked brusquely from behind me. 

I shuddered, watching them add more wood to the fire, watching the flecks of black ash float up in the wind. Already from here the heat was unbearable. It was some mercy that my arms had long since lost feeling, stretched and fastened with rope behind me.

A prickle on the back of my neck had me turning. 

It was him. He'd noticed me it seemed, expression unreadable. "Of course, we meet again," I felt him say.

I couldn't speak, the lump in my throat a dry, pressing weight, catching the smoke in the air. I couldn't stop my coughing.

"In what is my new favourite city, no less," he continued, watching as I was pushed closer - both to him and to the flames. A blow caught me on the head and I stumbled, dizzy.

"Rome," I heard him murmur, "where all things hideous and shameful from every part of the world find their seed and grow. Truly, to be in Rome is to be free."

I wanted to reply to him, the one I'd named, but I couldn't.

Soon enough it was my turn. Lungs bursting, eyes dry, my lips, tongue, teeth stained black with soot and smoke, I was hurled in. 

An inferno, the heat unbearable. My legs staggered under the weight of the pain, the screams of the dying taken over by the roar in my ears. Cool air touched my face, and I turned, questing towards it. A gap, an exit. 

I didn't understand but still I threw myself through, collapsing on the ground, blinded. It was too late for me. My body was burnt, the pain intense. I could barely hold in the screams. The only comfort: the longer I was dying and the closer I came to death, the more I began to return to my immortal self. Inch by inch it began to lessen, but still some small evil vestige clutched the core of my bones, simmering like an angry acid.

I waited, patient to die.

A hand grabbed my throat. I knew whom it belonged to, forced the shreds of my eyelids to open. He was staring down at me inscrutably, silver eyes darkened to burning stars. To my surprise, I felt the weight of a knife enter my heart, a cold shuddering bite that tore through muscle and rib in one smooth, agonising press. 

_Ah._

"Why are you smiling?" his voice was quiet as he held my gaze. It took a moment for the words to filter into meaning.

I couldn't feel my face, I didn't realise I had been. "Because this is a kindness," I found myself admitting, my voice little more than a croak of air.

His face contorted, nostrils flaring. "I've just stabbed you through the heart, and you call me kind?" 

"Yes, Riddle," I whispered as the world began to fade, my body falling away. It was strange to come out of such a precise existence, welcomed back into a closer union with the universe. 

"I always wanted this by my hand," Riddle was murmuring in an odd voice, holding me up even as I died. "I don't-"

**Fourth**

After that, I have to admit I felt different. It seemed some things from my experience as a human clung to me, digging their nails in deep. I found myself a little more... uncertain. A little more emotional. 

Years followed Rome. I enjoyed it. Yes, there was disease, and pestilence and war, but there was also innovation, democracy (of a sort), art, learning. 

I watched, spellbound, as faith spread, as worship commenced. Suddenly we were busier than ever. And of course, that meant seeing him more often. 

I caught sight of him as I was peeking over the shoulder of one I'd Blessed, years ago. I'd been excited to see this one's work, had come to watch him periodically through his life. Seen his talent develop, watched his delight at the smooth slick of paint, the way his heart picked up as he touched the brush to to canvas, gently carving out the whites of the eyes.

Imagine my surprise to see a familiar face, painted in the middle of a masterpiece that would be celebrated for a thousand years to come.

My jaw dropped. "The arrogance," I couldn't help but blurt out.

Of course he had heard my implicit thought of his name. He came, a slight wind ruffling the papers in the room and then he stood beside me, tall and black and looming. 

Riddle turned to look at me, a little shocked.

"We gave him his powers for Christ," I continued furiously, "to spread the-"

His laughter rang out, like bells. Even the artist paused his work, cocking his head. 

"Oh so you found it, did you?" he grinned. "It was just a little greeting, to say hello." 

My eyes flashed at his disrespect. "I Blessed him," I insisted stubbornly. "He was for me."

Riddle eye's found mine, light with amusement. I remembered those eyes, staring thoughtfully into mine as my lungs stuttered their last breath. He'd killed me.

I blinked the warning away, spine shuddering.

His lips turned down, to the barest indication of a frown. "Really, it's not like I led him astray."

My hands waved to the bottles of wine, stacked up at the edges of the room. The man's lips were stained purple, even at such an early hour. "Really," I said flatly.

Riddle rolled his eyes. "Loosen up, Harry. Wine is the drink of the people." 

I found my fingers rubbing at my brow. A peculiarly human trait I had retained. Was this why only a few were deigned worthy for a mortal body? Because the habits and the feelings stuck to you, like glue?

"Look, there's no need to get upset about it," Riddle's voice floated past my wondering. 

A felt a hum of something changing. My head shot up.

"What have you done," I gasped, eyes immediately finding his. 

Riddle smiled. "Another gift."

My mouth opened but he was gone. 

His 'gift', as it turned out, I would discover later. Much later.

Years passed until I was called by one of my own, back to the city, an excited hum in the air as I settled my wings.

She was laughing, almost to her knees with it. 

"What is it?" I asked, growing worried.

She was sipping on giggles, the word broken. "Look."

I followed her finger, turning.

A seventeen foot marble masterpiece, three times the height of a man. It was I as I had been in my mortal form, rendered down to the veins in my hands as they clutched the sling, the curls of my hair. 

My mouth opened but I was speechless. 

A fresh round of giggles burst forth. More of us had come, Uriel, Ariel, Dina. I heard their exclamations as if underwater. 

He had done this, I was sure of it. 

I did not feel rage, not usually. But the horror of this - this goading, this _sin -_ bled through me, indignant and glowing. It had my fingers clenching, my teeth grinding in a manner that was definitely not familiar to what I was.

"Riddle," I demanded hotly, but he did not answer.

I cast another look up, could read in the marble itself that this one would not be forgotten. There was something _Other_ about it. I could see it how they perceived it then, a symbol of their fight against us. 

He would not come and so I would seek. 

I left my brothers and sisters, chattering excitedly, marvelling. I followed him to a quieter place, the bank of a river. I did not know when or where this was - I did not care.

He was naked, pale limbs coiled in the sun, asleep under the shade of a willow.

I drew up short, my anger somehow extinguished all at one.

My eyes traced the gentle curl of his fist, the splay of his legs, his softness, so apparent in sleep. I could see the boy there, the one who had so fiercely demanded answers from me. 

I watched his chest rise and fall, the caress of the soft, trailing leaves, the way the curves under his eyelashes were stained dark with tiredness. I found myself curious, for the first time. How had he become this? Was he made? Did he Fall? 

Silently, I ducked through the leaves, settling myself by his side. The river opposite splashed a quiet tune. I do not sleep, not like they did, but I found myself at peace, my thoughts settling. 

We stayed there for a time, enough so that my eyes had closed too, my back resting on the bark of the tree. 

Eventually he stirred beside me.

"Harry?" Riddle's voice was soft with sleep. As he woke, the world took on an edge again. The rush of the river a little louder, the wind a little stronger. He was powerful, I was now coming to realise. 

"I saw your 'gift'," I said, eyes still shut.

I felt him smile next to me, the shift of his spine as he stretched. "Oh? What did you think?"

I felt my anger return. "A beautiful pity," I said sharply. "That creation was not meant for me, that was meant for Him." 

"No pity at all," Riddle said simply. "I wanted them to see you." 

I couldn't help but turn to glare at him, freezing a little as I realised how close he had come. I had not sensed his movement at all, quiet and quick, like a snake.

"No more gifts, please," I managed. 

I could feel the energy rolling off him, the force he had. He was free. And he was very, very dangerous. 

He inclined his head, dark eyes tracking across my face. "As you command." I heard the lie tickle his words. 

**Fifth**

I was mortal again, and growing weary. As was he. 

Darkness poured through shattered glass panes like inky clouds. High up, on the tottering church roof, we sat together, sighing as our legs kicked the air. 

"Sometimes I wonder," I found myself saying, but I stopped. My hands shook from where they clutched the tile, and it took a few breaths before I could begin again. "I was created to protect, to guide. But it- it just never stops. There is light, joy, peace. And death, and pain, and war." My eyes caught on the blood, glinting like seawater below. "One saved. One not. A constant, inexhaustible carousel. Even for us, Riddle." I looked at him, tears in my eyes. "We are not exempt." 

"Careful there Harry." There was no humour in his words. 

I let my torso fall backwards, lying to look up at the stars. A carpet of infinity, a spiderweb of energy. "I want to help. That is all I have ever wanted."

Riddle sighed. His uniform was stained black, oil and blood. His hand, when it found mine, was icy cold and rough. My breath caught. 

"I know. But it will never be enough," he said, as gently as he could. His thumb smoothed over my palm. 

I dragged my eyes away from above, let them rest on his face: earnest, eyes sad. 

"You once asked me why I chose this."

I nodded. "Yes."

He paused, gathering his thoughts, his thumb stilling. "I did so because I think the universe is not meant for such a tearing dichotomy. It's cruel. Is it not beautiful enough to _be_ without having to do so in such a rigid cage of what is 'good'?"

I sat up, pushing my hair out of my face. "But that's the point. Existence... it's such a gift. So why squander it on suffering, and harm? Why choose hate if you can choose love?"

"But don't you see, Harry, there is no 'hate' or 'love'," the words rushed out of him, "no 'good', or 'bad' either. Morals are entirely created." He pinned me with his gaze, electric and furious. "Surely if there is a duty it is to live _freely_ , not 'well'. Freedom is the gift, freedom is the point."

"No," I shook my head, something tightening in my stomach. "Look around you. If you are, indeed, _free_ , then this," I gestured to the bodies, the burning metal, "this is needless. Why do you all take it to such an extreme? They would do it without you, why do you stoke the fire higher?"

Tom sighed. "We are like this because there must be balance. If you were not so white, we would not be so black."

I moved away, fists clenching. He was wrong. It was frustrating. This body, its emotions... they were heavy. 

He chased me, leaning in to brush his lips against the whorl of my ear. His hair tickled my neck. "The truth is not always beautiful, nor beautiful words the truth," he murmured, words velvet and slow. This close I could smell him, smoky like the wet shadows in a deep dark wood. 

I pushed him away. "Lao Tzu?"

His expression was back to smugness. I rolled my eyes. 

I felt strange. Angry and confused. I didn't want to be here, staring down at the mess of my failure. It hit me suddenly. What _was_ I doing here? With the one responsible? I had others to help, another continent to look over somewhere in the future. I didn't need to be sitting on one of His places of worship, darkened and ransacked and defiled with all that He stood against. 

Dangerous, something reminded me. This is why they're dangerous. Clever silver tongues. 

I drew myself up. "I need to go," I said quietly. "This... is pointless." 

I saw hurt flash in his eyes before they closed off, back to gleaming pools. He got to his feet, dusting off his trousers and grabbing his rifle. I gave it a disgusted look. 

"Right. Back to the hypocrisy of serving in a mortal war. Enjoy."

My mouth tightened as I followed him down the creaking wooden steps, back down to the floor of the church. He was mortal, but his shadows still flickered a little too long, his gait too smooth. 

I could see his sneer, illuminated by the moon, as he looked around, considering the paintings and offerings that lay in ruin. "Contrived," was all he said, bitterness bleaching through the word. 

I wanted to leave. "'Till the next," I made myself say. 

He nodded, regret washing over his smile. "'Till the next."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Quote "Beautiful because it blooms, singular because it falls" - adapted from Zeami Motokiyo (1363-1443), encapsulating the Japanese concept of _Mono no aware_.
> 
> 2\. **Jebel Sahaba** is a prehistoric mass grave, often cited as the oldest known evidence of warfare. It lies on the bank of Nile, and is at least 11,600 years old. 11,600!!!
> 
> 3\. **Nero and the Great Fire of Rome, July, 64 AD**. There are varying historical accounts of this - some which tell of Emperor Nero ordering the fires to be set to make way for his immense new palace, playing the fiddle and laughing as the city burned. Others indicate he was out of Rome at the time, and was actually instrumental in providing aid and organising the city's recovery afterwards. Regardless, it did kickstart Nero's horrific persecution of the Christians, whom he blamed for the tragedy. 
> 
> 4\. **Michelangelo's famous sculpture of David** (from the story of David and Goliath) stands at seventeen feet tall, in the Accademia Gallery in Florence, Italy, and was completed in 1504. It is still celebrated 500 years later as an artistic masterpiece. 
> 
> 5\. Take your pick of wars here - I was loosely thinking about **the Great War**  
>  Quote "The truth is not always beautiful, nor beautiful words the truth" - Chapter 81 of the _Tao Te Ching_ , a Chinese classic text traditionally credited to the 6th-century BC sage Lao Tzu.


	2. Betrayed

I needed time to think after that. And so... I avoided him.

It was easy to do; I was older than he, a little more powerful, could banish his name from my mind with a single thought. I told myself to move on, focus on what I was meant for. 

I helped. 

Years, decades, bled into one. I blessed, I protected, I enlightened. I watched as mans bright, burning curiosity led them further into the intricacies of the world, as science blew forth at a pace I'd never seen before. 

I saw traces of him, of course I did. My eyes found his footprints, imprinted like a shivering brand on the edge of battlefields and graveyards, crackling with danger. I heard him in the the syrupy drip of false promises that oozed from those in power, one hand always clenched in pantomime of a gentle fist. I turned away each time, ignoring the slight pull in my chest that told me to find him, to try to change his mind and make him see the goodness, not the evil, in those he sought to corrupt.

Eventually, this too was forgotten as I was given my most important task.

The calling came on a clear night in winter, the moon beaming down a pale smile. Following my instincts, I appeared, slipping into a city somewhere in the East.

It was a large room in a modern hospital, black windows reflecting the overlapping forms of the occupants inside. I took a moment to marvel at the fluorescent lights, the stink of antiseptic and the thrumming of electricity through metal wires. How _clever_ , I thought in wonder, how beautiful. It seemed like only days ago I was watching as healers scraped off tree bark, grinding it into a gritty paste and pressing it unknowingly into wounds which would never heal.

It never ceased to amaze me how quick the progress was in this time. 

A cry pierced the air and my eyes sought her out, breezing closer to where her mother lay panting, sweat clinging in a pale sheen to her forehead.

I knew my charge immediately. She was soft, wriggling, pink limbs flushed with blood and tiny face screwed up in confusion. My heart widened instantly, slotting her into place. I would protect her, I knew. It was a task I would eagerly take. Her tiny soul, so pure, flittering with blooms of fascination and joy. I wanted to keep it safe, cupped in my hands. 

I watched as her parents embraced her, felt my own smile gentle on my face. 

This task was a gift. It gave me the pause I needed, allowing me immerse myself in my role as a guardian.

I remembered what it was like to fall in love , watching with pride as she took her first steps, said her first words, made her first friend. I found myself settling, the strange, pent up energy that I hadn't noticed building within me begin to dissipate. 

There was ugliness in the world, but I patiently guided her through it, tried to keep my lessons as delicate as possible. 

It took me until the autumn of her seventh year to really realise the gravity of her existence. These days my mind settled into somewhat of a meditative state. I had tied myself to her, existing in a kind of dreamy absence, presence only rushing back in when I sensed a moment of danger, or of teaching. 

She was in a playground, squealing as the turmeric brushed trees shed their leaves, blown in a gentle rain by a warm breeze. Her father was nearby, chatting to others, and I was resting high up, my back against a branch, listening to the old, wise energy thrum through the tree itself.

A warm hand on the back of my neck had me turning in surprise.

I should have known who it was from the peace that filled the air. My smile grew.

"It's been a time," he said in greeting, buttery yellow eyes burning warmly into my own. I felt my shoulders soften automatically, breath slowing, rising from my belly like a wave.

I beamed. My old friend: "Ele." 

The girl's pleased scream had us both glancing away, watching as she slid down the slide, limbs wriggling in free fall. She landed with a gentle bump on a carpet of crunchy wheat-coloured leaves, springing to her feet again to race back up.

I smiled through a sigh. The last seven years had been calm and sweet. All that was required was a steady, watchful gaze, and the occasional nudge of protection. It was nice. I felt like I was finally back where I was supposed to be. 

The hand on my neck disappeared and I looked up.

Ele grinned at me, shaking his auburn hair out of his eyes. "I'm pleased for you, Harry," he said sincerely. "She's wonderful. And this task is an honour to us."

I'm sure I glowed. "Thank you," I said, a little shyly. 

We watched her play for a time, listened to the wind swish through wet leaves above us. 

"She will turn the tide."

I glanced over in surprise. His eyes shined with peace and sincerity; truly Ele was the best of us. "She will?" I couldn't help but probe gently. I knew she was important. I did not know of the 'tide' of which he spoke.

His hands found each other in contemplation, shifting the white of his robes away. "So it has been said. There will be a marked point in this conflict, a time where destiny splits. Two possibilities," he mused. "She must be protected, for our way to prevail."

Joy burned in my throat. "I will see her through well," I said firmly. 

He laughed. "I do not doubt it, brother. I am glad to see you in such a position. We worried."

My nose wrinkled.

"Out of us all you have always been the most curious," he said carefully, after a pause. "Curiosity can be... dangerous, if misplaced."

Ele seemed to shake himself, clapping me on the back once again. "It matters not." A wave of peace found me. "I wish you good fortune, brother."

"And I you," I replied, a little unbalanced. They worried for my curiosity? My thoughts strayed quickly to Riddle, a prick of interest sounding as somewhere in the world his head shot up, having heard. I bit my lip, blocking it once again. No, I told myself. Focus on the task at hand. 

Ele was already gone, evaporated into the wind. 

I stared down at her, watching as she caught a leaf, jumping with excitement. Mine to protect. 

Ten years passed in a blink. I saw my brothers and sisters occasionally: sometimes they came to see her, sometimes for me. Strangely I did not meet any _Other_. Either I was protected or they shied away from her virtue, I did not know, but either way the time flew by in a tranquil, honeyed stream. 

She was seventeen, and my work was harder now. With age comes a bruising of innocence. Protecting her heart and her goodness became a more intricate task, deciding which losses were necessary and which parts must be kept intact. I'd seen her weep in aguish now, claw marks into her skin in self-hatred, watched in sadness as pain after pain came her way. It hurt me too, but I knew how it was necessary - this was life, all of it, and however much I sought to spare her, it wouldn't be fair to keep this from her. 

Sometimes I thought of him, but rarely. I thought of how he would agree with this, that hurt was necessary for learning, that existence shouldn't be confined to the good and the joyous. 

In the last week or so I had been noticing more concerning changes in her. There was a strange blackness clinging to her, dulling her movements. I wasn't sure where it was coming from. I followed her everywhere, but still it seemed to grow. My power couldn't touch it, either. It was some new form that fled as soon as I called forth my Divinity.

I wasn't overly alarmed. This kind of material accumulates in all, sometimes clearing out space to be filled later by light. But considering the nature of who she was, who she would be, I decided to call an elder of my kind.

Azekiel. He was one of the first created. Calm, strong, righteous. I felt his focus fall to me as he grew aware of my request, heard his whisper of assent, that he would come as soon as he was able. He had many tasks to attend, many matters that required his attention and care.

As the time passed, I grew more concerned. She began to drift, brown eyes dreamy and glazed. 

On that day, I knew something was wrong. The air had shifted. When you have witnessed as much as I, you begin to cultivate an awareness of how time stretches a little, on turning points. I could sense it, a papery thin warp, where the energy in the universe was attuned to... something. Quite what, I wasn't sure, but I felt it nonetheless, a sense of the earth holding its breath.

It was lunchtime. The school bell rang, and I followed her quick, small steps, past her peers, shuffling down the corridor, slipping into the fire exit. Confusion pooled in my stomach. Is this what the world was trying to warn me for?

We climbed, up and up. Her breath came out in short, sharp pants but she did not stop. I flooded her with light, saw her shoulders ease, but still her climb continued. 

We reached the top. The door opened under her hands, creaking wider with a heavy swing. Outside, the sun came down in pale white shards, the smell of grass whipped up by the wind, despite how high up we were. Spring: I could feel the new life in my fingertips.

She stepped out, and, as usual, I followed, confused when she halted three steps in front of the door. Edging past her, I looked around, freezing as I saw.

Everything just... stopped, just for a second. I was breathless, a little horrified. 

Silver eyes flickered to me, rested there, dark and inscrutable. He gave no reaction, no smile.

He had changed, in the century we had not seen each other. I could always read him well, but now... now I could not. There was no trace of delight or mischief in his face anymore; his beauty was icily cold and perfect. His dark hair was longer, curling to his shoulders, the coiled strength in his torso, arms, legs, undeniable. His wings, as all of ours do, glimmered out of sight, but I saw enough. They were fully black now, towering up as dark as the night sky, all the downy grey having disappeared.

I wanted to scream. There was only one thing that would do that to one like us-

In the usual cosmic timing of these things, I felt Azekiel shift into being behind me, appearing out of the air.

Some awful, heady energy was crawling over my skin, bearing down on us as Riddle sidled forward. Even with the buzz of an Archangel seeping into my back, my lips were numb with the darkness pouring off the _Other_ in front of me.

Oh. Oh, he was _powerful_ , I realised, with a swallow of dread. 

"Harry. It's good to see you again." My name in his mouth was purr, a shiver snaking its way down my spine. 

Azekiel stiffened, confused at the familiarity.

"So it was you," I replied cooly. Every nerve was alight. I was hyperaware of my charge, her frozen stance, the wind around us. 

He smiled then, cruelly. "It was," he called loftily, dipping his head in mockery of a bow. He prodded, I was well aware of that. I knew he liked to find weakness where it lay buried, and dig it out with his fingernails. 

"Well then you have failed." My eyes were still raking over him, desperately trying to find that trace of the one who had cheerfully played cat and mouse with me over the millennia.

I was no stranger to being at odds with him... but this felt different. 

"No, Harry," he murmured, still smiling. "Not quite."

I felt the shift at once. There was a seed in her, one I'd missed. Riddle's eyes dragged themselves away from mine, glowing like coals, and landed on her. "Go on, little one," he said gently.

She flinched, as if pushed, eyes growing wild and then absolutely dead. Her legs moved quickly, and the distance was short. She was over the railing in a heartbeat, staring down at the ground, meters and meters below. 

"We will not allow it," Azekiel said simply. His power rose in the air, cocooned itself around Riddle, trapping him. He didn't seem concerned, staring at me in a kind of blank curiosity. Waiting to see what I would do. 

I had already moved, hands reaching out to hover over where she gripped the metal railing. This close I could see her expression, face was blank, grey with sorrow. Her eyes didn't see the ledge, gave no indication she felt the wind whipping past her face, thin tendrils of hair biting into the soft skin of her neck and shoulders. 

I remembered her: younger, a child. Remembered her laughing, her huge soft eyes wide with joy and surprise. I remembered her prayers, always for others. Her goodness, her kindness.

Her foot stepped off the edge and I- I couldn't let him do it. Poisonous anger threaded through my mind. How dare he? 

Something tore within me and I heaved myself into the mortal plane, my body screaming out. Riddle's head whipped up.

"No," I gasped, forcing my newly physical hand to grip her arm. She didn't react. My feet were heavy on the ground, the stretch of my muscles tight but strong as I kept her from tipping over the side. 

It was the right decision. Even as my forced presence in the world tore into my stomach, burning up at the tips of my fingers. I could endure, for her. 

Azekiel stared down at me, eyebrows raising. "Admirable," he said, the word soft like the rustle of autumn leaves, "but unnecessary." His great palm raised, outstretched towards Riddle.

Things seemed to slow down. I could feel the tug of gravity on the girl, straining to fall to her death. See the way the weak afternoon sun carved out a mockery of divinity over Riddle's stance, haloing him in light. The golden glint to the air, a few birds circling overhead. 

And then I felt the shock in the world as Azekiel sought to destroy him. 

_Why are you laughing?_ I remembered. 

Riddle's eyes widened in realisation, his shoulders making to jerk backwards as if by reflex. There was no escaping it. Azekiel's power was commendable, befitting a true Right-hand. Riddle could not escape, not once the decision had been made. 

White light began to stream out, inching out in a searing glow. If it touched him, he would be gone. No _Other_ immortality could stand up to that. 

I imagined, for a brief flash, watching him cease to be, those cunning soulless eyes disappearing. Never again hearing that mocking voice in my ear - how much easier it would be, how light I would feel without the weight of his words. 

For a second, I let it pass. And then my body had shifted, without me really noticing. 

Azekiel's light slammed into my chest, sucked up like honey into my heart. I felt it surround me, caress me with purity and goodness. But, it would seem, I was already too far gone. It snuck its tendrils into my mind, my ribs, rooted around and found that tiny fluttering seed of doubt and latched on, like fire on a candle wick.

I gasped, forcing myself to look up. Riddle's mouth was open, shock painting a clear picture over his features. My eyes found Azekiel, staring at me, horrified. No, he wasn't staring at me. He was staring at where my hands were clasped around nothing. 

"You. Harry... how could you-" 

I couldn't answer. We heard the impact, even from this high up. The wet shudder of the ground as the weight of her body exploded into it. 

I felt sickness rise in my throat. "No," I heard myself say. "No, no, no." The voice didn't sound like mine, it was thin and choked with panic, fading as the breaths began to pulse their way through my lungs. My fingers spasmed.

Riddle's face slowly morphed, triumph rising in his smile. His laughter was still beautiful, even though it cut. 

My knees went out, hitting the concrete hard. I felt nothing. I hadn't even realised I'd let her go. I'd just wanted to save him. 

Through my disbelief I saw the blur as he moved, heard the wet ripping sound. I managed to move my head, raise it enough to see. He'd taken advantage of Azekiel's frozen terror. It almost looked like an embrace, but his arm was stuck through, nails digging into the Angel's heart. I saw my brother choke, the blackness spread through his veins.

Riddle's teeth were bared, eyes alight with hunger, throat swallowing as he sipped from Azekiel's power, draining him dry, corrupting him like a disease.

How had this happened? 

Her life force finally went out, the last few flutters of her heart like the wings of a tiny bird. I felt it like a bullet. Within me, Azekiel's light seemed to treble, burning through my spine. It was agony, ripping through me.

I stopped breathing, my vision fading and then sputtering back in. Somehow I was sprawled on the ground, eyes trained on the white waste of sky above me. 

Dread filled me. I knew what was to come. 

I saw his feet - slender, delicate almost - come to stop in front of me. The smell of ash and blood invaded my nose. I felt something drip down my cheek. 

"Dear Harry," he murmured. "Do you know what you've done?" 

I couldn't speak, as I died. The holy light inside me sought darkness, and when it found it _burned_ , extinguishing anything in its path - and I'd just killed an innocent. One I was ordered to protect. My insides were falling away, like petals of ash. I felt my wings begin to fall apart. 

"Let me die in peace," I said, my vision waving with water. 

"Oh no," I heard him laugh. "You don't get to do that now."

I awoke, and cried out. My chest was scooped dry, a ragged wound where my Divinity once lay. Instead of power and light, my body was thick and weighty, my limbs uncooperative and slow. I was mortal? Perhaps. I wasn't sure. 

"Shh," a voice came from above me. Fingers stroked their way through my hair, wiping my tears. 

The horrible burning in my heart continued, and I turned, scraping my cheek against the ground under me. It shifted as Riddle rearranged his legs. Ah. My head was cradled in the dip of his lap. 

"What happened?" I managed, fluttering open my eyes. 

The world took a few moments to resolve into clarity. The first thing I saw were his eyes, bright and deep, like molten metal. There was something swimming in them, something new, that I couldn't quite identify.

I tore my eyes away, shakily easing myself up on my elbows to look around, forcing down the burning pain in my back.

We were on a beach. There was no warmth here, no colour. The grey waves made no sounds lapping against the white sand. Even the air was tasteless, flat. The shore stretched on in both directions, infinitely. Behind us was sand, forever. In front, the endless ocean. 

My heart was no longer under any control of mine. It thrummed against the cave of my ribs, a panicked staccato.

"Where are we?" 

I turned back to look at him, watching me silently, observing my reaction. 

"Acheron." His smile remained unfazed, fingers coming up to graze the height of my cheekbone. It felt like a burn. "Do you know where that is, Harry?"

I shrank away, not quite understanding why. My memories were blurred. There was... a girl? I couldn't quite remember, just a shock of misery, regret and fear. Although I wasn't clear on how it had transpired, if I was in Acheron - the gateway of Hell - only one thing could have happened. 

"I've Fallen." It wasn't a question.

Riddle nodded. "Yes."

I let out a sob, pure anguish gripping me. I knew what this meant. Never again would I see my brothers and sisters. Never again would I bask in His light, for as long as I existed. I was an outcast now, a failure, a mistake. 

Riddle tugged me further into his lap, warm arms winding around my ribs like steel bands. He was much larger than me now, my power gone. I couldn't move an inch. Achingly soft feathers pressed around us, blocking my view until I was trapped within the circle of his arms and the blackness of his wings. 

I couldn't stop shaking. This was new also. I had lost the mastery over my thoughts and reactions that I was used to. I felt like a leaf on the surface of rushing water, carried by a current, drowning, helpless. 

Riddle said nothing, but his grip never loosened. Eventually, my tears slowed. Every part of me hurt, the space where my wings once connected to my back a throbbing bruise.

"What happened?" I mumbled, hands clumsily coming up to pull his arms away, his grip too tight. His scent, smoky and delicate, suddenly felt oppressive, winding into my lungs until it felt like i couldn't breathe. 

My brow twitched in confusion as he gave no indication of noticing, arms remaining locked.

"What do you remember?" I flinched as his voice sounded next to my ear, soft in the darkness.

I turned as much as I was able, to look up at him, my eyelashes wet and clumped together. I tried to fight my way through the fog of memory, but all I could find were shards of feeling, flashes of images.

"I don't know," was all I could say. "You... you were there. There was a girl... a child?" And then light.

I wondered who had done it. What it had felt like. I'd never seen anyone Fall before. 

My back ached. My body was tense, straining to push him away, but he just huffed out a breath, like my efforts were amusing to him. 

"Let me hold you."

I felt myself relax, horror at my position once again rising up. He was strong now, much stronger than I. I was not quite mortal, but close to it, and he - well, his voice was known by mortal and immortal alike for stealing inside, for persuading, for tempting. His words flowed into my brain like sticky pleasure, coaxing without resistance. 

I hated it. 

"Don't do that," I whispered, eyes flashing. 

He inhaled, mouth resting on the junction between my neck and shoulder, as his thumbs began to stroke my sides. "You have to give me this, at least, Harry. I thought I'd never find you."

I frowned, wanting to shiver at the feeling of his lips of my skin. "Why am I here? Is this where all the Fallen land?"

Riddle laughed. "No. No, I hunted for you. Bartered a favour with Azrael to pull you from him."

A chill went through me. I wondered what they did to Fallen angels here. What Riddle would do. "Why?"

He said nothing. I began to feel dizzy, claustrophobic. I could see nothing, his wings shielding all the light. I leaned away and this time his arms loosened, wings retracting to unveil the shore.

Stupidly, I felt the panic begin to grow again at the sight of the endless sea. Or river, I supposed.

Acheron.... 

"We're waiting for the boat," he said gently, as if sensing my fear. "Some things even I cannot bypass."

I tried to recall what I knew of this place. The dead must cross the river, enter the first circle. 

"And once we have crossed?"

I was looking at him once again, saw the smirk flutter on his lips, the pleased glint in his eyes. "Then we are in my domain. And I will make sure you are safe." 

I opened my mouth to reply but his body suddenly went stiff under mine, head turning. I followed his gaze. Out of the murky, fog-drenched water, a faint shape was making its way towards us.

He rose, lifting me up with him to my feet easily. I burned with embarrassment, but my body was weak, knees trembling as they supported my weight. Perhaps he could tell, as the heat of his hand never left my wrist, body edging in front of mine.

The shape resolved as it grew closer. It was a small boat - more of a raft - with a lone, slim figure standing at the helm. His oar was silent as it cut through the water, the waves on the shore beginning to part in solemn respect as he steered the boat to the sand.

This close and I could make out his features. He was bent double, old body so gnarled and withered I would have thought him a tree at first glance, if not for the star-spray of white hair frothing in wisps from his shrivelled scalp. He sneered down at us, the entirety of his eyes black, like a goat. 

"Why, if it isn't the young master," he spat, before his gaze dropped to me. "Oh," he breathed, a smile curling at the edges of his lips, "I haven't seen one of _you_ down here for quite some time."

I glanced at Riddle, unsure of how to respond as the old man continued, inhaling raggedly. "But how could I ever forget that _taste_..." He licked his papery lips with a long, wriggling tongue. I shrank back, disgusted. "How delicious you would be..."

Riddle's grip tightened, but he gave no reaction other than to flick a coin into the air. The gold glinted briefly and, quick as a flash, the ferryman had caught it, bony hand moving so fast I missed it. 

He stared down at the coin in his palm as Riddle spoke, black eyes glistening, mouth wet with drool.

"Passage for us both, Charon."

To my surprise, the coin went into his mouth, the crunch audible in the silence as he chewed and swallowed.

"Granted," he said, unblinkingly, licking his lips again. His mouth was stained gold.

Riddle strode forward, tugging me behind him. His steps were steady and sure as he walked onto the boat. I followed, stumbling along as best I could, feeling my strength drain with every movement I made.

I was so weak. Would it always be like this?

Charon's beady eyes followed every shiver, narrowing every time my knees buckled before I caught myself.

It seemed Riddle had no patience for it.

"Charon," he said lightly, a warning humming in the word. 

The old man actually flinched, stepping away from him reflexively, before catching himself. His face darkened, but he plunged the oar into the water, the sea flowing back to scoop up the boat, ferrying us away from the shore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl still wobbling between making this a full length fic or just keeping it short, so i want to hear if you think this idea is worth investing in - pls drop me a comment and tell me what you think!
> 
> love you all and hope you're well <3


	3. The Edge

It took three strokes for us to lose sight of the shore. All too soon we were surrounded by an impenetrable white mist, our vision limited to a few feet of grey water lapping at the sides. It was like no boat journey I had taken before. I could hardly tell we were moving as Charon led us on, no waves daring to rock his vessel.

The air here was wet and sluggish, so thin in places that my lungs began to ache. Even the surface of the river was odd, the texture appearing more like sand than water, lighting up every now and again as some silent lightening shocked the sky above. 

I leant over, entranced by the swirls and eddies of the watery black grit beneath us. It was hard not to fix on, as the only thing with any definition in our endless blank landscape. I wanted to touch, to see if it would wet my skin, if it truly was water.

A hand closed around my upper arm. "Don't look into the water."

I jumped, realising how close my face had been to the surface. 

"Why? What is it?" 

In front of us, Charon barked out a laugh. "Do they teach you nothing up there?" he sneered, pairing the words with a particularly strong thrust of his oar. 

I wobbled, Riddle's grip the only thing keeping me steady. "Acheron, the River of Woe. But this looks like no river I have seen."

"It is formed from the ash of those who burned for their sins," Riddle explained as he let go, our eyes meeting. I could tell we both thought of the same memory.

I blinked away. "How does it bear us so easily?" 

"Charon commands it so."

Charon's hair floated around his withered scalp, despite the lack of wind. "Bound to her, as she is to me," he said loftily, black gaze running over the water.

I wanted to ask more, but I could sense a curtailing of his willingness to talk. We were swept on in silence.

Soon, a differentiation of grey began to materialise on the horizon of the water. A chill passed over me. I looked to Riddle; he didn't seem particularly concerned, profile calm and thoughtful as he stared out in front of us. 

"What's on the other side?" I asked.

"'Tis the Edge, little Fallen." Charon crooned gleefully.

Riddle huffed out a laugh. "A place for those unbaptised by your God."

My insides twisted with anticipation as the far bank began to grow clearer, rearing up like the shadow of some monstrous beast. Great mountains of stone crumpled out of the earth, their crags and creeks flittered with mysterious cracks and the occasional withered tree. The beach was more of a small lip of grey sand, which funnelled into a path leading up further inland. As I scanned it, a blurred shadow darted across, disappearing into the rocks.

Charon's mastery over the Acheron delivered us to the shore in what seemed like mere moments. Despite the bleak landscape, it felt good to have ground under my feet again. I was reminded a little of Earth, of the bleached, lonely canyons I'd once explored, millennia ago. 

I half expected as dramatic a parting as the greeting had been, but no sooner than we had stepped off the boat, it began its journey back to the far shore. Charon's spindly figure was swallowed up by the mist in seconds, his eyes never leaving mine.

I shivered.

"Charming, is he not?"

We were alone again and my skin prickled at the return of the strange, sweet tug that seemed to always be present between us. "What is his story?" I asked, more to hear another speak, uncomfortable with the sheer silence of this new land.

Riddle began to lead us further in, strides confident and powerful, entirely at ease as he picked his way through the rocks.

"Charon, son of Night herself. Once, long ago, he tried to gamble with Lucifer - and of course, lost. He was forced to give up himself as collateral and swear an oath of payment: ferry the dead until the fall of Earth, or until enough money has been collected to clear his debt."

I thought of the coin disappearing on his tongue, the bob of his throat as he swallowed. What a terrible existence: never setting foot on steady ground, endlessly crossing between two sides of such a bleak and harsh place, the only company the souls of those cast down for their sins...

I smiled humourlessly at myself. Was I forgetting already? This was Hell.

"It will be a short journey, Harry." Riddle had stopped, waiting for me to catch up with my uncooperative limbs. 

"To where? Where do we go?" 

His eyes slid over me, assessing. "My home. When I am not in the world." 

I imagined it: where Riddle curled up to sleep, where he could feel safe in a place like this. What did it look like? Some kind of dark palace, surrounded by a moat of fire. Horned guards... perhaps a many-headed dog to rip apart intruders. 

My foot stumbled, so engrossed was I in thought, and I had to throw out a hand to catch myself on a nearby crag.

My teeth ground together as I heard a snort.

"Careful there, any lower and it would be indecent. Although I must admit, I like seeing you embrace your new status."

"Indecent?" I repeated, confused. I followed his gaze to my hand. And cried out. 

It was no rock I was clutching. It was a female, body contorted into a horrifying shape, limbs compressed into strange angles. She was breathtakingly life-like, carved from the stone in achingly perfect detail. A monstrous work of art.

Riddle's words suddenly made sense as I realised where, exactly, I was gripping. My cheeks flamed as I let go, stepping away.

"What is this?" I asked, piecing together my dignity.

Riddle looked like he was trying not to smile. "I told you before. The unbaptised."

His meaning trickled down. 

"You mean to say that she is a _soul_?"

He nodded.

Disbelieving, I turned, eyes suddenly unlocking the shapes around us.

It was like a screen had been lifted from my eyes.

The cracks in the rocks began to reveal themselves as an arm, half a face, the eyes chipped away in slumber. Once I'd seen one, they were everywhere. The entire spread of rock was made of a tessellation of bodies, some completely smooth, having slumbered for too long, others half merged, and others still wholly visible, pallor leaking grey and limbs sinking. 

I felt sick. "Can they... can they feel?" 

"Yes," he smile. "They try not to, but they can." 

I turned back to the female, my eyes meeting hers, immobilised in stone and gazing sightlessly at the bleak sky. The pupil twitched. 

"How? What causes it?"

His smile stretched. "I imagine the sheer time. What would you do if you were here, in this place, for hundreds of thousands of years? There is no night here, no change in the surroundings. You cannot converse with others. I imagine you might last a few hundred years, but eventually you would have to give up, no? Find somewhere to settle, try to become as still as you could, pray for the time to pass on without you."

"But souls must journey through here all the time, on their way to other parts - as we are?"

"It doesn't matter. They cannot see any but themselves."

I stared at the sleeping landscape, stretching on and on as far as I could see. At the dead, petrified in ossification. "I- This is ungodly." I said, horror and anger mixing.

At that, Riddle let out a peal of laughter, beautiful as it as mocking. "Oh Harry," he said, like I'd pleased him, "who do you think sends them here?" 

I shook my head, suddenly sure. "If they end up here they have denied Him. They must pay a penance, yes, but I can still believe that this, here, is against what He stands for."

Riddle had stopped walking again, and now stared at me, brows furrowing. I felt another little fritter of fear unfurl in my belly. I was not used to this - not used to tasting his power in the air and having none of my own. I forced myself tall, stared him in the eyes.

"He created everything, did He not? Including this wretched place." 

I swallowed, refused to budge as he began to prowl towards me.

"And just who do you think these people were? These poor, miserable souls?" Riddle said, deceptively sweetly, gesturing to the rocks soaring up around us. 

"Those who have rejected His teachings."

"Which includes those who _never had an opportunity to learn them_." His hand came up to stroke at what looked to be the side of a child, sagging against a jumble of elbows and feet. "Where we first met," his tongue curled around the word of a village, a language I had not heard for a long, long time, "those we saw in that place. They are here. Trapped in an never-ending press against each other. And for what? Because He never allowed them to even have a chance. Would you not call this a rigged game, Harry?"

His words hit somewhere deep, an uncomfortable jab. But this was no surprise to me. I knew that for the eons and eons before He had delivered His words, the dead could not gain entry to heaven. But, I admit, I hadn't expected somewhere so cold and unfeeling to house them for the rest of eternity.

"Infinite in His mercy, indeed," Riddle murmured. I could hear the bitterness. 

Somewhere I had not noticed before, buried deep in my mind, a heat flared to life. It surprised me with how quickly it expanded, white hot and venomous, surging through my veins like molten lava. Anger, I realised. This was real anger, the kind that blew through you like wildfire over dry grass, dangerously hungry.

"Do not mock," I snarled, startling us both. Riddle stiffened. "Not when you have caused more pain than this by your own hand. There must be penance, and this is it."

The air seemed to thin out even more as his face darkened. My breaths began to wheeze.

"Yes, there must be penance," he said icily, "but _I_ do not pretend to stand for anything different. I accept who I am and what I do. I do not condemn others for the very acts which I perpetrate."

"What did you _just_ do?" I retorted hotly. "Because I believe there was condemnation in your tone."

Riddle huffed out an amazed laugh, and before I knew it he was standing right in front of me, staring down at me from inches away.

"Do _not_ accuse me," he hissed, "of the kind of hypocrisy that we both know falls from His lips." His hand came out to gesture to the suffering around us. "Is this deserved, Harry? Could this ever be deserved?" He leant forward, so close my heart stopped beating. Was this fear I felt? "And, please believe me when I say this, this is a _kindness_ compared to the rest of this place."

It took me a few seconds to find the words before I spoke. "That is for Him, not me, to judge." I said stiffly.

For a second I caught sadness on Riddle's face, as his eyes peered into mine, and then he stepped back. "I know." His anger seemed to have faded, replaced with a tiredness I did not understand.

I felt empty, unsatisfied, but something in his tone had my own fury settling. I shook my head, inhales coming quicker as I suddenly realised I was able to breathe full breaths again.

Although his fists were clenched down by his sides, Riddle began to walk on once more, and I followed, weary down to my bones. One foot, then the other. I made myself move across the grey sand. It was slow progress, as I forced my stumbling body to work, but progress nonetheless. It was good, gave me something else to focus on, let me press down that strange, uncomfortable rage.

I made myself look at those I passed, trying to commit their faces to memory. _You are not forgotten,_ I tried to tell them. _I wish I could give you peace._

We walked - inched - along for perhaps another few minutes, the pitiful scenery unchanging, before he drew up short. I stared at his back, a little warily.

His voice sounded flat when he spoke. "I'm afraid I'm not one of _you_ , and my patience is not endless."

"What do-"

My sentence cut off as he whirled around, long strides eating up the few steps between us. In a blink his arms had stolen underneath my legs, around my shoulders, hoisting me up into the heat of his body like a child. I froze, a faint foreign embarrassment curdling through me. Nobody had touched me in this way for a long time. If ever. 

"This is humiliating." I ground out as he looked down at me, even as my legs were sighing in relief. For the first time, I noticed the flecks in his eyes, the way his eyelashes glittered with metal, the inhuman glow to his cheeks. Despite the superior senses, somehow I had not seen these things as an immortal.

He rolled his eyes. "There there, I'm sure you'll survive."

I nearly choked. "Please don't tell me that was an attempt at humour," I found myself saying, somewhat hysterically. 

"You're not dead, Harry," he said, after a pause. There was a thrum in the air as his wings appeared, unfurling. They stretched out, beautiful and sleek, their span impressive. 

I had been wondering. "And yet I woke on the shore of Hell and had no choice but to cross Acheron." 

"The path is the same. But you are no ordinary soul." Something about the fervour of his words, the way his gaze held mine had me off-balance. 

I said nothing, looking away, back at the rocks. He gripped me tighter to his chest, ignoring my hiss as the pain in my back intensified. His wings began to beat, the muscles in his arms tightening, great gusts of wind blowing the dust around us into swirling sandstorms. My heart rose as we did, up and up into the whiteness of the sky.

Flight with him was heady. Pressed to him as I was, I could almost imagine his wings were my own, his power mine. I peered down, eager to see the rest of this Circle, but of course, we were immediately thick into the mist that covered this forsaken place.

Even up here the coldness was unchanged, biting into my bones as it had on the ground. I shivered, curling into his warmth as subtly as I was able, holding back a sigh of relief as he shifted, pressing me closer. 

My anger had left me completely. I felt strangely empty. I tried to recall our conversation, to stoke the fire once again, but there was nothing left but ash and a feeling of numbness in my chest. I couldn't stop staring at his wings. My eyes burned, and the lightness of my back began to feel unbearable. 

The reality of my situation washed over me, a slow tide. What had I done? I had betrayed those who loved me most. I had betrayed Him, to the point where He had ripped off my wings and cast me down. There was no going back now. I was powerless, at the mercy of an _Other_ who could chew me up and spit me out any time he felt like it. I had lost. And now what awaited me? What was I to do here for the rest of eternity, surrounded by suffering and misery?

"Why are you crying?"

The voice sounded directly into my ear, low and steady. I blinked, fingers coming up to feel my eyelids, slipping on the wetness there. I wiped away the blurriness, trying to focus my gaze. Around us was pure white, an occasional paintbrush stroke of grey cloud. It was nothing like home, nothing like Earth. It made it worse.

"You say I am not dead," I was surprised at the thickness of my voice, the ache in my throat. I tried to swallow it away, but it remained stuck. "Why? Why would He keep me?"

Riddle's wings seemed to hesitate a beat before the steady rhythm continued. "It is a fool's hope to answer that."

I shook my head. "I betrayed them. I- I _killed_ ," the words slipped out and despite my missing memories I felt the truth of it in my heart. "I broke His laws. I would expect nothing less than true death."

"Is that what you want?" Riddle's arms were growing tight, tight to the point where my spine ached, curled as it was into his chest. I didn't care. I wanted the pain. 

"I deserve it." I said truthfully. We could both hear the honesty in my voice. "Death would have been a kindness." I hesitated but said it anyway, "and now it just remains a hope."

The sound of his wings suddenly cut off, the silence awful. For a second we hovered, static in the air, and his arms moved, dragging me out in front of him, my legs dangling uselessly. The pit of my stomach swooped.

He looked livid, and for the first time since I'd Fallen I could taste his darkness rearing up, a true _Other_. I was frozen, shocked at its suddenness.

"Death is a hope for you?" he spat cruelly, face white. "Well then _die_."

I had a moment of incredulity, staring up into his cold silver eyes, and then the bruising grip on my shoulders was gone as his hands let go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to everyone who has commented their support for continuing this - I know you don't have to but it honestly really means a LOT to me to get feedback on what I write ^^ Sending love and good vibes your way!!
> 
> I found trying to write Harry's emotions here to be pretty difficult - I wanted him to swing between curiosity, horror, anger, righteous indignation, sadness, bitterness etc, but trying to keep the flow going whilst doing that was actually quite tricky. Let me know what you thought/if you picked up on this!


	4. Lessons

I dropped like a stone.

For a second I was so surprised that even as the wind surged against me no noise escaped my mouth. And then I suppose I must have screamed, but the wind tore that away too.

He'd let me go - let me die - just like that?

The betrayal was quickly superseded by panic. In a blink Riddle's figure became a black dot above me, still stationary, wings spread like a huge black crow, before he was swallowed up by the mist. My heart was in my throat, hands windmilling as I hurtled down and down. The muscles in my back burned afresh as they tried to extend limbs I no longer had. The wind roared in my ears, buffeting me like a ragdoll, my body spinning, twisting in the air as I futilely tried to right myself. I couldn't breath, any air ripped away before I had a chance to inhale.

The freefall was over mercifully fast. I managed to turn, had a second to see the smudged smear of a thick, dark forest rear up beneath me, treetops soft and flat, before I was slamming into it, the breath driven from my lungs.

They were not soft.

I hit the trees, the branches slashing at my skin, whipping at my limbs as I careened down, crying out. I didn't seem to be slowing at all, each branch I hit exploding into my limbs, cracking bone, punching into every fleshy part of me there was. My eyes squeezed shut, hands reaching out to grab onto anything, anything at all that would save me from what was sure to be a swift and deadly meeting with the ground. 

Dragging my way down through the tree cover must have helped somewhat, my fall softened slightly by the chaotic rebound as I bounced between trunks. But despite this the earth still slammed into me, unforgivingly hard, my head smacking off the surface with a resounding thump.

I lay there, feeling blood trickle down my forehead and sting my eyes, desperately encouraging my lungs to begin working again. Above me the canopy remained mockingly still, leaves fluttering with the occasional delayed branch fall. 

Riddle, I thought vengefully. How could he drop me?

A few heartbeats went by, before I gathered the courage to move my legs. I heaved myself onto my side, curling into a foetal position before managing to press myself up, all the while hissing at the pain. Somehow, somehow I could still stand. The last vestiges of my immortality, perhaps.

Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand I stared down at the red streaks, turned black by the gloom, mind stuttering over what this meant. So it seemed one could still bleed in Hell. I wondered how far that extended, whether the soul could be destroyed here or if it just went on and on. The thought of it had me shifting uneasily, before I stopped, disgusted with myself. I'd said I'd wanted that - the final end. The fear it filled me with was just more evidence of my weakness, the reason I was down here in the first place. 

Here. Where even was here? Looking around, it seemed to be a perfectly ordinary human forest. Tall, thick trees stretched their gnarled fingers up to a leafy ceiling, penetrated at odd intervals by dribbling threads of burnt orange light, soon swallowed by the darkness. It was old, and wild, the ground a mess of rotting leaves and twisted roots which gleamed blackly, in places coiled densely enough to resemble intestines in the cavern of a torso. There was still a chill in the air, an insistent perfume of loam and rot and sugar that made the back of my throat ache.

The silence settled, weighty and aware.

My skin prickled, breaths too audible. No forest should be this quiet, without even the hum of an insect, the rustle of wind in the leaves. It made it all feel strangely flat, like I'd fallen into a painting. 

My fingers twitched as my eyes caught on a shadow, a few paces to my left, heartbeat immediately fluttering. Fear was a sensation growing all too familiar, the way sweat pricked at my lower back, my senses straining, breath shallowing. 

There was someone - something - there, one that I hadn't noticed with the commotion of my landing. Gathering my courage, I forced my body to move closer, using the trees to support my weight. I squinted. It was... a human? Yes, I realised. It was - two pale flashes resolving themselves as not yet more flora, but in fact a pair of narrowed eyes, irises such a thin, watery blue that they wept into the whites.

"H-hello," I called out, freezing a little as the head turned slowly in my direction.

The face that met me was thin and child-like, pointed chin disappearing into the shadow of a long cloak, hem long enough to brush the ground. Spiny antlers stretched out from his bare scalp, like winter-stripped branches, the colour of old bone. 

"You've come," he said, accent not one I recognised. A distant memory pinged in my mind: Mayan, perhaps. 

Weird. "You... expected me?" 

He weaved through the trees towards me, gait loping and odd. He smiled, a strange jack-o-lantern grin which displayed small, sharp teeth, like flecks of flint. I wanted to stumble away - but where would I go?

"Oh yes," he nodded shyly, edging his upper body around a tree just an arm's length away. His head twisted, cocking to the side. "We knew it was likely."

The skin on my arms prickled into goosebumps. I decided to ignore his strange foretelling - I was no stranger to those with vision stretching further than the present. More importantly: "Which part is this? Which circle?" I asked carefully. 

He studied me quietly for a moment before whispering. "Eighth." 

Dread curled sharply in my stomach, and for a moment I forgot how to breathe. Riddle had been flying for minutes at best, how were we already so far down? Collecting myself, I tried to think about what I'd been told. Eighth... was... ah yes, it was Fraud. That was fine. Fraud I could handle - it certainly wasn't the worst.

I blinked, beginning to notice the shuffling in the shadows. There were more of them, still standing a good distance away. Just watching, their eyes the same watery blue.

"There's a message. For you, Harry."

I turned back to the one in front of me, confused. "What message?" 

His smile remained. "He told me to tell you she's here." 

"Who is?"

He stared up at me, calmly watching for my reaction. "The one you killed."

My blood ran cold. Flashes of a face ran through my mind, a girl, gentle dark eyes, her smile shifting as she grew older and older, now a teenager, her school uniform, flapping in the wind. Riddle, a roof. I couldn't hold on to any long enough for them to make sense, shards of memories slipping through my fingers as I reached for them. She was important, that I knew for sure. Important enough that losing her had been enough for my Fall. 

I was stepping closer without even realising, fingers clenching near my sides. "Where? Where is she?"

His antlers tilted backwards as he raised his head, brushing a low branch. "He said the _Other_ will know. It can tell you." 

Other? He must mean Riddle. I paused as something else occurred to me. "And who was it who told you this?"

"She is lost - lost, but not yet gone. You must find her. You must right your wrong, Harry." His voice had shifted, a familiar tone seeping in, one that filled my eyes with tears at its familiarity. 

A cry split the air, an ear-piercing shriek that had my ears sobbing for relief. The boy in front of me reared back, cloak parting in his haste. My eyes fell from his face, grin now tinged with fear, to what lay beneath. 

It took a few seconds for my stuttering mind to understand. His long neck led down to dark shoulders... and then the delicate plate of shoulder blades, a spine, the backs of his legs. Which would all be fine. If it didn't mean his head was twisted the wrong way round. 

I didn't have much time to take it in. A rush of air buffeted past us, howling through the trees, letting the dim light come flooding in for a brief few seconds. Around us, those shapes that had been steadily creeping in began to cry out, tripping over each other in their panic. I watched, lips parted. All of them. They were all facing backwards as they fled, unable to see where they were going, pale eyes squinting.

Oh. It hit me all at once. Fortune tellers were in the Eighth circle, were they not? I remembered suddenly: fated to walk backwards in death forever, for their crimes of looking too far forward in life.

The scream sounded again from somewhere in the forest, but this time there were words too. 

_"A tasty surprise, I'll pluck out your eyes, stop you telling lies, enjoy your little cries!"_

The antlered boy and I seemed to turn to each other at the same time, both of us rigid with panic. Why on earth had he stayed? He shook his head at me slowly, lips curling silently around a word. 

Run.

"Over there, Mistress, please, please have mercy! The being is over there, we promise," came a squeal, the words floating in the sudden silence. 

I could't run. All I could do was cling to the tree trunk, edging myself further into the shadows as someone stepped out between the trees.

It was a woman, her head mercifully facing the right way. Long black hair dripped down her back, all the way to her legs, her skin an icy white. She didn't walk - she flowed, steps graceful and dainty as she moved unnervingly quietly towards us. There was no shadow made from her body. I gave up any hope I'd harboured that she hadn't seen me. Her eyes were locked on me, and I swallowed thickly as they found my own. They were black, like Charon's had been, cold and reflective.

" _Hello there,_ " she crooned, a thousand voices weaving to create a wall of noise. I held myself steady, unable to move an inch. My body refused to cooperate, frozen stiff even as she reached out with a strangely long arm, sharp black nails caressing the thin skin of my cheek.

" _Now you, little one. You don't smell like the dead_ ," she said gently, smiling. Her teeth were black, filed to razor sharp points. She was close enough that I could taste her in my mouth, earthy and bloody, like rotting flowers. Shaking her head she took a long inhale, fingers walking up to my hair, playing with the strands.

Move, Harry. _Move._

" _No. You aren't, are you? How interesting_."

Her hand suddenly tightened, using her grip on my hair to rip me away from the tree. Unable to keep my balance I went sprawling on the ground, roots scraping into my skin, soil in my mouth.

"What do you want? What are you?" I struggled to my feet, tongue finally managing to form words.

She ignored me, stepping forwards gracefully. Her black eyes narrowed as they ran over me. " _Don't think I don't know,_ " her voice dripped with a sneer as she leant towards me. " _The audacity of your kind... truly unforgivable_."

I cried out as with no warning her fingers thrust somewhere deep inside my chest. It _hurt,_ an agony that tore through me, squirmed into every crevice of my body. Breath wheezing, I looked down to see my skin unbroken, confronted with the horrifying, nonsensical sight of her talons disappearing into the flesh of my ribs. I was human now, and I'd never felt so terrified. This time there would be no other body waiting for me, no wash of peace as I left physical form. What would happen if I died here? Would I be stuck in this awful, backwards Circle forever?

My mind was running ahead, eyes scanning for anything I could use as I futilely tried to push her away. Where was the boy? There was no trace of him now, but the others had come back, lured by the commotion, peeking around the trees and staring in curiosity.

Spit landed on my forehead, dripping from her mouth as she dug around, face contorted in concentration. A particularly vicious twist of her fingers and I felt my knees almost give. What was she doing? What part of me was she clasping? 

Something caught my eye. A slither of silver, just peaking out of the sheath on her hip. My vision was fuzzy, arms slow to move, weighted down, but she was distracted by whatever it was she was groping around in my chest for. If I could just reach it, maybe, just maybe I could-

"So? Do you still want to die, little Angel?"

The familiar voice rang out softly, my breath halting in disbelief as I looked past her shoulders.

Sure enough, Riddle was emerging from the gloom, threads of shadow weaving together into his looming form, wings stowed. He took in the scene, lips stretching around a macabre beam.

The Fortune Tellers around us began to cry, bodies smacking into each other as they rushed to retreat. It was worse than when they'd seen the woman, this time they were almost manic in their desperation to leave, whimpering and wailing as they dived into the safety of the trees. 

He ignored them as he prowled towards us, eyes never leaving mine. The woman was frozen, gaze flitting between us warily as her hand drew out of my chest. Slowly, she straightened from her crouch, head dipping in a bow.

" _My lord_ ," a thousand voices screamed. 

"No, no," Riddle flapped his hand at her. "Please, continue, harpy. This is what he wants."

My eyes grew wide, staring up at him incredulously as the monster above me smiled, jaw cracking open to reveal her teeth. " _As you wish, my lord_."

"No, no wait-" the words barely left my mouth before once again her hand was buried in my chest, this time latching on to something and pulling. Her head bent, teeth ripping into that strange intimate part of me she had been tugging on. I screamed, the pain white-hot and blinding. 

"Stop, stop-" I gasped the words out, tears leaking from my eyes. My lips tasted coppery from how hard I'd bitten them.

"Is this not what you wanted?" Riddle's was standing over me now, close enough to touch. The harpy stiffened but continue to eat, chewing loudly, claws in my chest. I couldn't move, paralysed with the pain. He squatted down, tenderly tucking a curl of hair behind my ear. "Do you think this suffering is enough?"

How could he watch this so easily? How could he smile?

"We are in Hell, Harry. You don't die here. It just.. continues. Forever." His eyes sucked me in, pupils unwittingly dilated with an _Other_ ly pleasure at my pain. 

Suddenly I couldn't take it any longer. No. I didn't want to die. I didn't want to die, not like this. I _didn't want to die._

Curse him.

"I don't-," the words panted out of me, each a shuddering inhale as I forced my mouth to form words instead of screams, "don't want to- ah," blood bubbled up, tears leaking out as I screwed my eyes shut.

Riddle's teeth glinted. "Don't want to what?"

The harpy kept tearing and tearing, taken over by hunger-lust. My eyes met his, wild with anger and betrayal as the moment hung, suspended in the air. Both of us knew what this meant.

I forced myself to break it, the word half lost in the raggedness of my voice. "Die-"

And then the pain was gone. Breath left my chest in a gasp, my body numb with torment. A phantom ache twisted my insides as I rolled to the side curling up, ribs heaving.

"Mm, I thought not," came the voice above me. 

I didn't sound like myself, a thin, broken wheeze, but I made myself spit it out. "Fuck. You." I was half aware that this was the first time in my existence I had profaned, but I was too depleted to give it much thought. It actually felt surprisingly good.

There was a moment of silence, like Riddle was surprised, and then his laughter floated down, deep and throaty. "I think that's the first time I've ever heard you swear."

If I had the energy to laugh I would have. "Clearly," I croaked thinly, "it won't be the last." My eyes were shut, the ground beneath me wet and freezing. My body seemed to be coming back to me now, fingers twitching with the absence of sensory input.

I needed time to think. The Fortune Teller's face flashed in front of my eyes, his voice echoing in my skull. " _You must find her. You must right your wrong, Harry."_ The voice of my brother, crafted from the vocal chords of a young boy. Riddle couldn't know. But maybe this was my chance. Maybe I was here for a reason: to make amends. Another memory floated up. _"She will turn the tide_ ," Ele had said. Maybe the tide was still turnable. 

"I don't want to die," I repeated softly, into the skin of my hand, under my cheek. It took everything I had to straighten, to push myself to kneeling.

The harpy's head was next to me, blood blue and splattered out in a strange pattern. My eyes caught on it for a moment, frozen, before I forced myself to look away from her sightless grimace, up to where Riddle stood over me. 

He nodded, face somber. "I know." His eyes tracked over me, crouching down and picking me up.

"I'm beginning to feel like a doll," I muttered, legs once again swinging over the side of his arms. Bide your time, I warned myself, forcing down the humiliation. Regain your strength. 

"You are very pretty," he said, smirking. It seemed he was satisfied with what had clearly been intended as a lesson. How like one of _them_ , I thought bitterly, to teach with pain instead of words.

His wings unfurled, quicker this time, like he was as eager to leave this strange Circle as I was. No sign of any other Fortune Tellers - it seemed he'd scared them off.

There was a gust of wind and we were airborne, soaring high up into the mist. 

"Where to now? Another Circle?" Another stop on this merry-go-round introduction to Hell, I imagined. 

"My home," he replied, eyes scanning the air in front of us. Quite how he knew how to navigate I didn't know - there were no sign posts, no landmarks of any kind.

I coughed weakly, blood on my tongue, and resigned myself to the journey. "What was she eating? What part of me?" 

Riddle's eyes slid to me before back out in front. "Your soul." 

"My soul," I hissed, suddenly alarmed. "What do-"

He huffed a laugh into the top of my head. "Relax, Harry. It replenishes as soon as it's torn off."

My stomach swooped. "So she would have continued? For- for how long?"

The answer came after a moment or two. "The worst thing about this place," he said softly, "is the time. It does not deal with weeks or years, it deals with eternity. Most things can turn rotten when stretched out ad infinitum." 

"She wouldn't have stopped," I realised out loud.

"Well, she probably would've at some point," Riddle replied, before he sighed. "You're Fallen. Your soul is different to the rest. Despite what you may think it's still pure, which makes it a delicacy. It goes without saying that it's another reason to be cautious down here. You're different, and that makes you... desirable."

"It's not pure," I said, distracted by something in the mist. A shadowy pillar was emerging, a huge line cutting from top to bottom of my line of sight, like one of those skyscrapers that seemed to be the fashion in the century I'd left. My eyes widened, squinting through the sticky blood clumped in my eyelashes.

"I can assure you it is," Riddle chuckled. "You're lucky I found you so quickly. There are many who would give a lot to get their hands on one from above."

We edged closer; another few seconds and I could make out a huge clock decorating one side, each of the roman numerals the size of a house. Beneath us, I began to see glimpses of a city, the elegant buildings twisted around each other, like a dark, mutated 20th century London. A strange red light washed down from somewhere above, bathing everything in an eery twilight. Was this his home? 

I shivered a little, turning to look up at him. "So is that why you took me?"

"No." He didn't deign to explain further. We flew straight towards the tower, each beat of his wings dragging us nearer. A small, camouflaged terrace protruded from the centre of the clock, a semi-circle of pristine marble floor with a huge stone archway forming a door leading in.

"Then why am I here?" the words tore from my lips, bitter with exhaustion. "Why did you go through the trouble of finding me? What exactly is it that you want from me?"

He sighed, eyes blinking closed for a second as he shook his head. I held my breath as the marble veered up, Riddle touching down smoothly but still hard enough for me to bounce in his arms. He let me go, depositing me on the ground, hands coming up to grip onto my shoulders as he stared into my eyes.

"What do I want? Hm. Let me see." His voice was calm, relaxed, but his smile sat strangely on his face. Once again it seemed I'd managed to unwittingly flip a switch. "I want you outraged, Harry. I want you angry. He led you into this, He stripped the wings off your back, took your power - all because you acted out of desire to help."

My mouth opened but his hands tightened, cutting me off as he began to push me backwards, towards the tall glass door behind us. "You are a being of power. You have been alive for longer than mountains, you have watched the slow march of evolution with your own eyes. You don't have your Divinity?"

I flinched and he grinned to see it, baring his teeth.

"Well guess what? Neither do I." We were hovering on the entrance to what looked like his chambers, lavish and unsurprisingly mortal, fit for a king. "No Divinity, but see what I can do."

The metal of his eyes began to swirl. My gaze was ripped away by a crash splitting the sky, and as I turned I gaped. What had been the same, monotonous white fog was replaced by a looming black beast of a storm, swirling and eddying, on a scale that was outstanding even to my eyes. It stretched across the sky like an ancient monster, an apocalyptic terror the likes I'd never once seen on earth.

"See what power I have, without Him."

My breath felt faint, head hot. 

"Do you see, Harry?" Riddle was insistent, pressing me into the hollow skeleton of his body where static jumped from his skin to mine. I could feel the shift of his muscles against me, the strength coiled in his arms as he pushed me further into the arch of the door.

"Yes," was all I could say. All I could think about was that seed, deep inside me, the one that had burned with Azekiel's light. The one that was trying to thrust its way up my throat, tie my tongue into saying the words I was desperately trying to keep inside.

Because it was beautiful. It was beautiful - he was beautiful - and I _wanted_. 

My teeth pressed harder into my lips as my body shivered. This place was so cold, and he was the only heat, the only warmth I'd felt here. He gripped me tighter in return, breath hot in my ear. 

"You don't need them," he whispered, his breath curling inside my ear. "You've never needed them, they just held you back."

"That's not true," I answered frustratedly, unable to drag my eyes away from the mess in the sky. 

"You know it is. Don't worry, Harry. Now that I've got you here I can show you, make you see it." His voice was threaded with something I didn't understand, some kind of weight which had no place in the words. 

"You're wrong," I said, thinking of Ele. Of the child in my memories. I needed to find out more. I needed Riddle to tell me. 

"I suppose we'll see." The energy from before was gone, his voice flat.

His fingers brushed past my hip to land on the glass of the door, and it opened smoothly, the glass melting away enough for our bodies to move through. The world seemed to grow lighter, the strange colour in the air fading slightly, the weight releasing. I blinked past him, watching as in mere moments the storm sucked itself into a singular tiny speck, before blinking out, replaced by the usual white. 

What now?

Riddle seemed to read my mind. "I told you I'd take care of you," he said, stepping back and eyeing my torn clothes, the blood dried on my hands, my face, my lips. "Come on." 

When? I thought, but forced my body to follow, one foot in front of the other and repeat. I could hardly take in the room, just enough to see that it was achingly huge, piles of strange objects obscuring the corners, wild plants hanging from the ceiling. The floor was stone with thousands of runes carved on the surface, neat lines stretching all the way across the room. From a quick glance it looked like a story that had been popular around one thousand years before the people had discovered Christ, and I couldn't help the fond smile that ran across my face at the memory of a flickering fire, the wide eyes that stared unseeingly into the flames as the Teller recounted the story of Azo the Fierce.

I caught sight of something familiar, huffing out a tired snort at the intricately carved marble, a mans body with the face of a lion. "That's supposed to be thousands of miles under the Atlantic." 

Riddle didn't pause. "They'll never find Atlantis anyway, so it doesn't matter." 

His hand caught my wrist, fingers wrapping around it, pulling me forward, ignoring the way my legs jerked, knees almost crumpling with each step as I reached the door to his bathroom. 

Apparently too slowly.

His hand moved from my wrist, joining the other at my waist as he hauled me up, placing me down on the surface next to a huge claw footed tub. I almost shook my head; he really seemed to have liked the decor in 16th century Europe.

And then he was stepping in-between my legs, crowding over me. I wondered distantly if this kind of forcefulness, the proximity, was something he'd learnt in the years we'd been apart. Or maybe it was because of my Fall. Either way, he'd never acted like this before. I was a little... off-balance.

"I need it off you." He frowned, brows furrowing as his eyes tracked over me. I stiffened as he leaned in closer, hands beginning to tremble, hyperaware of the distance between us, of the smoke and the static his body was throwing off. 

"What off me?"

Warmth was leeching into me from him, his breath on my neck. "The salt of Acheron's dead. Blood. Eighth Circle forest. Pain. I don't like it. You shouldn't smell like that," he answered calmly, nosing his way along my collarbone, fingers toying with the collar of the stained, grey robe I had woken in, presumably once the glowing white of an Angel.

I didn't know what to do. It had been over one hundred years since I'd last set eyes on him. And then all of a sudden I had lost my wings, my divinity, my home, myself. And now here I was, weak and tired and mortal, and in his bathroom. 

He leant back, tongue poking into the side of his cheek as he studied me. "Take it off."

I let a moment of stunned silence pass, watched his eyes glow, more dangerously than they did in the mortal realm. Here, he was at the peak of his power. I knew it. He knew it.

He _liked_ it. 

"Come on. Be a good little Angel." 

My mouth dropped open slightly, face burning. "Excuse me?"

He smiled, eyes never leaving mine as he stepped back. "Do you usually bathe clothed?"

I looked at the steaming bathtub, then back to him. It was strange - as an Angel I had no shame. Now, as this in-between thing, I was suddenly conscious of myself, of my body. I clenched my fists. "No," I tested, disbelieving, words tumbling out in a confused sputter. "But you're. Aren't you- what, do you, do you want to watch?"

He smirked. "Why, is that a problem? Too shy?"

Anger threaded through me once again. Clothing shouldn't mean anything. It didn't. This was a sign of my mortality now, one which I refused to indulge. Straightening, I forced my expression to calm, letting the robe slip off my shoulders, pool at my feet. I was swaying again, but made myself stand, look him in the eye. His gaze tracked over me, dark and steady. Fear thrummed through me. He wanted me vulnerable, unsteady. Why?

"So what happens now?" I asked him, fingers finding the reassuring weight of the tub beside me as I stepped in, shakily lowering myself into the boiling water with a hiss. Everything ached, but the water felt soothing, washing away the grime and the horrible stench of death. I felt my expression soften, the ache of my eyebrows release as some of the pain leached away.

Riddle hummed in consideration, taking a seat next to me on a chair which hadn't been there before. "Now I show you my realm. But first you recover."

I closed my eyes with a bitter huff, the soft lap of water convincing me to keep them shut. For the first time in my existence I needed to sleep. I hadn't realised one could sleep down here, but I was hurt, I was tired and I needed to rest. My breaths began to elongate, steady enough to obscure the sound of shifting to the side of me.

I didn't have the energy to flinch as I felt something touch itself gently to my shoulder. I creaked open an eyelid, the tiny movement taking far too much effort. 

"What are you doing?" I managed to slur. 

"Cleaning you up," came the reply.

Riddle was pressing a cloth to my shoulder, my neck, swiping away the black stains there, dipping it back in the water before taking hold of my arm and repeating the process. I couldn't be bothered to protest, and in any case, it felt nice. Gentle pressure, stroking over my face, my upper body, my legs. It was even slower, even more halting as it reached my back, a sharp inhale, not quite a wince, enough for it to skirt the wounds on my shoulder blades. 

I don't know how much time passed, my mind skipping into consciousness every so often before fluttering down again, but at some point I felt arms under me, lifting me out the water. I nosed closer into the smell of smoke, loose and relaxed, ignored the weight of gravity, the water dripping off me, the feeling of air passing over me as I was moved. I was grateful; I didn't really understand why he was doing this - surely not just for giving him a name all those years ago - but right now that didn't matter. There was a surface, soft and firm, warm, the same smell.

I had given enough. It was weak of me, I knew that, but to Hell with it. I _was_ weak. I was damaged. I was no longer holy. But so what? I may have given up on myself, but I had not given up on my mission, my friends, or, more importantly, on my _belief._

My fingers curled, digging into the material beneath me. Even as my mind began to slip away I thought it with all my heart, with all the resolution I could muster. I would do as Ele had asked. I would pay my penance and I would find her, send her back above where she should have been. 

It came to me the instant I decided, floating up and wrapping itself around me as I tipped, feet slipping into a dark, deep slumber. A single word, a name. 

_Maya._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> boop happy friday!


End file.
